Periodic Elementary
by SpeckledBrunette
Summary: Jim is up to his old tri cks again, kidnapping Molly & John to gain Sherlock's attention. More info on the inside...
1. Chapter 1

Hello! Lovely to meet you all and thank you for having a wee look at my story, hope you find what you are looking for! First off, let me give some background to everything!

I am new to this, this being my second piece of writing, and first (hopefully!) long length story! I have had the first four chapters written for a long long while and after doing nothing but collect dust on my hard drive, I have decided to publish them as they are. I must emphasise that whilst I did have a strong idea to where this story was going to go, I regret that I am now a little lost so please please do not be disappointed if I take a while to come back to this, real life unfortunately does get in the way! Everything should be calming down for summer soon so hopefully I'll have time to come back and give this story more attention.

I do not have a beta so any and all mistakes are my own, and the rating to this story is subject to change. If anyone has any suggestions of where this story could go please feel free to comment/give me an email, I'd love to hear your ideas! I do have an idea where I'd like this to go but it just isn't sitting neatly enough for my liking for me to write it yet….

Anywho, please enjoy what meagre offering I have to give so far!

I

Sherlock walked into the living room, simultaneously shrugging off his long coat and hanging it along with his scarf (blue cashmere: a present from Mrs Hudson for Christmas) at the back of the door. The flat seemed oddly peaceful. He'd expected John to be back by now. His eyes quickly glanced over the usual locations where he'd expect to find a hastily written note declaring John to be out for the evening, no doubt with that GP woman he was so fond of. When Sherlock didn't find anything worthy of his attention he strode into the kitchen and checked in there. Nothing had changed since Sherlock's presence this afternoon. His microscope, along with the tray of serum samples he'd been examining were still on the dining room table surrounded by the piles of autopsy reports he had yet to go through on behalf of his latest experiment.

Sherlock turned on his heel back into the living room and collapsed back into his chair, kicking off his shoes at the same time. It had been a long day whilst nevertheless productive. Again it seemed he was the only person in London who was capable of using his brain. Actually _using_ his brain. Not this criminal profiling nonsense that Lestrade's team felt necessary in every single case. If they just looked. _Really_ looked. Nine times out of ten the answer would be staring them in the face.

Sherlock sighed and looked at his watch. 10:36pm. He must have been longer than he had thought sat in the interviewing suite with Lestrade and Donovan. He got up and strode over to his violin and began to play a new tune he'd been working on. It was the quiet tap on the door followed by the familiar announcement hum that stopped him mid-harmony. Mrs Hudson was stood peering round the door.

"Sorry to disturb you Sherlock, but this came for you earlier when you were out" with this she held out a little parcel, neatly wrapped with Sherlock's name written across the brown paper in calligraphic writing. Sherlock took the parcel from her and placed it on his desk.

"Thank-you Mrs Hudson." He said quietly. With this, she smiled and started to slip the door close gently, but before she could, Sherlock spoke.

"Oh and Mrs Hudson, John didn't happen to say where he was going this evening did he?"

"No dear, I haven't seen him since he left for work this morning, why?" She asked gently.

"No reason. Good night Mrs Hudson" Sherlock said as he swung up the violin to continue where he'd left of. Mrs Hudson stood smiling and listening to the beautiful music before she turned to leave.

"Night Night, Sherlock"


	2. Chapter 2

II

It was 8.17 and John was late. He ran down the stairs through to the living room with his coffee mug in hand. He turned to quickly grab his coat from the back of the door before revolving and staring at his flatmate.

Sherlock was sat, no, _perched_, in his dressing gown and pyjama bottoms in the exact same spot in his chair where John had left him the previous evening.

"Did… Did you even get to bed last night Sherlock?" John enquired. Sherlock sat stock still, knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. "Sherlock." John sighed. "You should get some sleep. I've told you before. Even geniuses need sleep sometime."

Sherlock continued to stare straight ahead. John could tell he was having one of his moments. Lost in his mind temple thingy or whatever he pretentiously called it when he chose to forgo all social accustoms and instead play a game of statues.

"Sherlock….Sherlock are you even liste– Look, forget this. I'm late as it is. See you tonight." John said as he downed the last of his coffee, grabbed his coat and set off down the stairs. He called a hurried apology and goodbye as he passed Mrs Hudson in the corridor nearly knocking her sideways.

John slammed the door to 221b closed and set off. He glanced at his watch. By his calculations he would make it, more or less, if he took the short cut through the park. With that, he quickened his pace and set off in the right direction, weaving past the early morning office workers and tourists that were present on the streets of London at this hour. His head was down, his mind occupied by the night he had spent with Sarah last weekend. Autopilot took over as he made his way to work.

John was halfway through the park when he recognised the familiar voice call his name coming from one of the benches. He stopped and turned to look. To his surprise he saw Molly, Sherlock's friend, well _colleague_, from Bart's.

"Molly! Hi – what are you doing round he-"He stopped when he fully took in the scene that surrounded him. Molly was visibly shaking and distressed, her eyes were wide. He only had to take one look at the large coat she was wearing to hazard a guess that she had more explosives underneath that thing to blow up the entire street. Oh the familiarity of this situation.

"I'm sorry John. He made me." Molly said. Her voice breaking as she whispered the words. John felt the cold hard barrel of a gun press into the small of his back and felt the presence of two burly men at his side. He raised his arms slowly.

"Dr Watson. If you would be so kind as to come with us. If you make a scene, the girl will suffer the consequences" one of the men whispered into his ear menacingly. With this, the two men grabbed his wrists and firmly led him back towards the street. He could hear Molly being escorted behind him by another set of suited men. When they reached the road, two black cars – identical to the ones Mycroft used to 'send' for him appeared at the curb side.

"Well if you're offering a lift, I could do with one to work, this little get together has made me a little late?" John said, looking round at his captives. He didn't see the third man stood behind them, nor did he shout when he felt the hypodermic needle enter his arm. The drugs felt like ice as they made their way through his system. He would have collapsed to the floor had the men stood by him at either side not anticipated this. With one smooth action, they had him in the back of one of the cars and away into the traffic of London's rush hour with little apparent effort


	3. Chapter 3

III

Sherlock suddenly stopped playing and placed the violin upon one of the stacks of pathology records, simultaneously picking up the brown wrapped package before slumping back into his chair.

53 grams. Thick parcel paper. Standard type, easily found in most stationary branches. Ambiguous. Neatly taped at the edges. Too neat. Writing on the top was that of a woman's, trained in shorthand, probably a secretary's. Done with a Parker: 23k nib. High class secretary.

His curiosity was peaked. Sherlock stood up and walked over to the fire place where he picked up the envelope knife from the mantle. Carefully he slid the knife along one of the sides and gingerly unfolded the edges. He peered inside and saw there was a black plastic object. Sherlock gave it a tug pulling it out; unfurling the piece of paper wrapped around it. It was a mini alarm clock or timer of some sort with no buttons, simply a cheap LED screen. He set the black object down and turned his attention the piece of paper that had been wound around the clock.

It was a standard piece of A4 plain paper with a copy of the periodic table. Obviously a print out from a quick image search of 'the periodic table'. He didn't have to check to know that this was the first you'd come to if looking for a picture of the periodic table. Whoever had sent this hadn't even bothered to look for one with the correct resolution. This one was ever so slightly blurred that it made it difficult to make out the Lanthanides and Acinides at the bottom. One of the elements had been roughly highlighted in the standard office neon yellow.

Sherlock frowned. Something about this didn't quite sit well with him. He must have been stood for half an hour or so before the sound of his mobile shook him back to reality. His hand dipped into his suit pocket and pulled out his phone. He lazily glanced half expecting it to be John telling Sherlock where he knew he already was, at Sarah's. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked closer at the image. He couldn't make out the faces but he could see they were evidently being held hostage, both of them had their backs to the camera and you could easily see that their hands were tied behind them with their heads lolling forwards. Probably unconscious.

Even if Sherlock was an idiot it wouldn't have taken him long to piece together the story of the image. John and Molly had been kidnapped. The shock froze Sherlock for a moment. His phone buzzed in his hand again. A text this time.

**Dance for me Sherlock. Tick Tock. JM**

As soon as he had read the text an electronic beep sounded. The black object had come to life. 72:00:00 the dial read. With a second beep, the countdown began.


	4. Chapter 4

IV

The combination of drugs, dehydration and tiredness were taking their toll. They had been left now for a good while; however whatever 'good while' quantified too, John was completely unsure since the room they were currently in had no light whatsoever. He knew, or rather, presumed that the warmth he could feel on his elbow was that of Molly. Again, he presumed that she was in the same predicament that he was: tied to a rather uncomfortable wooden chair.

John shifted in his chair, trying to find a position that would ease his aching legs and back.

'John?' Molly's voice nervously came from next to him. "John, are you awake?"

"Molly, where are we?" John asked, wishing he hadn't, the effort it took to form words sent a dull ache filtering through his entire self.

"John, I'm sorry. He went mad and made me. I…I didn't have a choice…..I didn't know what he was capable of, I feel so stupid." She stumbled through her tears, John could her from her voice she was upset, confirmed by the fact he could feel he arm shaking next to his.

"Whoa, whoa, okay, calm down calm down. Breath for me Molly, breath." John said calmly. He listened for her breathing to slow and reach a non-hyperventilating level. "Okay, " he paused, "Molly, who did this, who's _'he'_?"

"Jim" She breathed.

"Who's Jim?" It took a moment for John's brain to flick through the possibilities, "Oh you mean the guy we met in the lab the other day? Boyfriend Jim?" John questioned.

"EX-Boyfriend Jim. I mean, how could- what sort of a man does this?" She sobbed. John inwardly sighed. Women and their hormones. Nearly as bad as Sherlock.

"Is this you breaking off with me Molly? I'd be heartbroken truly. If I'd cared that is." An Irish voice drifted its way from across the room. John's head immediately turned in its direction, trying desperately to seek out the outline of the body to which the voice belonged. His eyes strained in the dark. Absolutely nothing.

"Unfortunately for you, my dear, you are just another fly caught within my gorgeous little web." The voice paused. "Actually I'm being modest, my humongous web. Seriously, it's huge." The owner of the voice smirked, not that his audience could see this.

The voice was getting closer, John was sure of it. It had moved from behind him and was now closer, not yet in front though.

"J-J-Jim? Jim is that you?" Molly cried, "Please Jim, just let us go, I'll do anything please! Please what are you doing?" She begged, her voice had completely melted into uncontrollable sobbing again.

"Touching. Truly deeply touching. But afraid I'm gonna have to say no. Well, actually, that's a lie. The correct answer is no. Not just yet. See, we're playing a game. All of us! It's a fun little game, really. But it only works if we all stick to the rules of the game. This little game is my invention, it's a treasure hunt. And you, or more specifically, your lives are the prize!"

John had heard enough. "Who the hell are you? What the hell are we doing here?" He shouted impatiently. It wasn't like John to shout but in this case, he allowed himself.

"Johnny boy. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny! Welcome to the party! I'd almost forgotten you were here, silly me!" The voice giggled. "Allow me to introduce myself, Jim Moriaty at your service. Criminal Mastermind extraordinaire and queen of the catwalk!" His mocking voice laughed. "And in answer to your second question, we all have a mutual 'interest'. His name is Sherlock." The voice suddenly become serious. "And right now. He is the only thing that stands between you and being blown into a thousand tiny little pieces. "

A red light suddenly flashed in the distanced. John's eyes, having grown accustomed to the dark, reacted painfully to this new stimulus. He forced them closed, slowly opening one, and then the other, painfully forcing them to focus on the red. It was a clock, as far as he could tell. It read 72:00:00. As a door slammed somewhere behind him, the numbers began to fall 71:59:59. 71:59:58. 71:59:57…..

"What – What does that mean John?" Molly voice breached the quiet silence.

"It means Sherlock better get his arse in gear. And Quick." John answered.


End file.
